The Zimventures 8: Zim's Inferno
by tusitalabruni
Summary: Remember when average schlub Cris Zim committed quantum suicide? It turns out this is a big no no, and Satan wants to see him. Angel's Doyle is the man for the job as he guides Zim through the circles of Hell, meeting a mystery Sopranos character along the way. (With apologies to Dante.)
1. Prologue

THE ZIMVENTURES

ZIM'S INFERNO

PROLOGUE

When Zim woke up, someone's hands were in his pockets. They riffled frantically through the contents, finding nothing of interest. Of course he didn't have anything; he was dead. The last thing he remembered doing was going back to the past so he could kill the younger version of himself. In fact he shouldn't even have pockets.

"Come on," someone said. The voice had a thick Russian accent to it. "You must have something."

Shit. It was a guy. Zim immediately felt gay, and the shame hit his system. He sprang up. "Quit it!"

The Russian snarled, but he retreated. "Sorry. I thought you were sleeping."

Only then did Zim notice the moans and the screams around him. It looked like he was in a very large dungeon. He couldn't even see the walls, this chamber was so big. The place was crowded with people, and most of them were naked. Those with clothes, like the Russian, wore rags. As far as Zim could tell, the only person with jeans and a t-shirt was himself.

"Where the fuck am I?"

"'Scuse me. Yeh don't happen to be Cris Zim, do yeh?"

Zim turned to see a skinny short man with a mop of black hair. His face was very pale, and he wore a leather jacket. His appearance, combined with his accent, made him the stereotypical Irishman. "You can call me Cris."

The Irishman chuckled. "Not likely, mate. My boss told me to address yeh as Zim."

Zim grimaced. It never failed. No one ever called him Cris. Even his own father called him by his dreaded last name. He shrugged it off as best he could. "Boss?"

"Oi can't tell yeh. But he sent me to foind yeh. My name is Doyle." He held out his hand.

Zim took it. "What does he want me for?"

"He just wants t'see yeh. That's all Oi know."

"So . . . what is this place?" Zim waved a hand at the rest of the people around him.

"This is Purgatory," Doyle said. "Yeh see, the good Lord doesn't know what to do with yeh. No one's ever committed quantum suicide before. Normally those who kill themselves woind up in Hell. But you're different, son. Unique. God's trynna figure out what t'do wit' yeh."

"Oh. Great. So I'm dead."

"It's no big deal. Oi'm dead, too. Have been for quite some time. I hear you know my former partner, Angel."

"The vampire with the cool hair? Yeah, I ran into him once. Or did I? Since I'm no longer around, he probably never met me, right?"

Doyle sighed, rubbing his temple. "Yer givin me a bloody headache. Forget that stuff. Listen: Oi have to escort yeh through the noine rings've Hell. If yer gonna be blathering mad shite like that, Oi don't know if Oi can make it." He suddenly reached around Zim and slapped at someone. Zim turned and saw the Russian.

"What is that guy's deal?" Zim asked.

"Never moind Valery. He's the Russian guy from THE SOPRANOS. This is where he is."

"Huh. I always wondered about that guy."

"Anyway, follow me."

Doyle walked away, and Zim followed, wanting to get as far away from the Russian as possible. As they walked Zim thought he might make some conversation. Ordinarily he wasn't very good at this kind of thing, but he figured since he was dead, he was free to reinvent himself. Perhaps this time around, he'd have more confidence.

"So, how did you know Angel?"

"Oi usta have visions," Doyle said. "From the Powers That Be. They were his guide t'foinding out who needed help. But then Oi sacrificed moiyself and passed those powers on t'a wee lass boiy the name've Cordelia. Oi died and woke up here. God didn't know what t'do wit me, neither, since Oi killed moiyself but also saved the woreld at the toime. It was decoided that Oi was t'be a liaison between Heaven n Hell. Hence moiy job wit' you."

"Oh." Zim tried to think of something else to say, but he came up with nothing.

"Here we are." Doyle stopped in front of a door and gestured to it. "This is the only way out've Purgatory. It's closed t'evereyone except people loike me. Yeh ready fer Hell?"

Zim sighed. "I guess so." So far the afterlife wasn't so bad. How much worse could Hell be?

Doyle opened the door and waved a hand at the spiral staircase leading down. "Away we go, mate."

"Whoa," Zim said. "That looks like a lot of stairs. How far does it go?"

"666 stairs," Doyle said. "Yeah, the Dark One's got a sense've humor."

Zim sighed. "That's way too much. Let's stay here."

Doyle shook his head. "Oi was told yer a lazy one. We can't stay here. Let's go."

Zim wanted to cry. "There are just too many stairs. It's not worth it."

"Yeh know what's not worth it? They don't have alcohol here. Imagine an eternity wit'out booze."

"Bruni would not like that."

"Future Booze Jaysis?"

"You know him?"

"Aye, word've him gets about."

Zim looked at the staircase again. "Do we really have to go?"

Doyle nodded.

Zim let out a tremendous sigh. "Let's get it over with."

"Good man!" Doyle clapped him on the shoulder.

Zim took the first step, and already he felt tired. He didn't want to imagine how he'd feel after the next 665.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

GIVE UP HOPE, ZIM

Zim nearly collapsed as soon as he reached the bottom of the staircase. His legs ached as he leaned against the wall, panting and sweating. The stairs had all been very steep, and the spiral had been very narrow, which made keeping his balance difficult. There was no rail, only a piece of rope to hang onto, so his arms weren't doing so well, either.

Doyle took the last two steps at a bound and landed on the stone floor. "Out've shape, are we?"

"Fuck . . . hhhhhhhhh . . . hhhhhhhh . . . you." Zim wiped at his forehead, and his hand came away slick and shiny. "This sucks."

"Yeh get used t'it," Doyle said. "Me, Oi'm from Oierland. We've got stairs loike this everywhere."

"Give me a minute." Zim slid down to the floor and massaged his legs.

"Yeh can't be that big've a pussy," Doyle said.

"Sure I can." Ordinarily Zim would have argued the point, but after the physical ordeal he's just been through he figured he might as well concede and catch his breath.

"Don't sit there too long, mate," Doyle said. "We've got a long way t'go. There's noine rings, yeh know."

"And they can all wait. I'm sick of this shit! Why couldn't I have died like normal people?"

"That's 'cause yer not normal, son. Hop to it." He offered Zim a hand.

"In a minute."

Doyle sighed and grabbed Zim under the arm, yanking him to his feet. Zim mumbled an objection, but Doyle didn't hear it, and he didn't care to ask his ward to repeat it. "Let's go."

The two of them stumbled forward, Doyle pushing Zim in front of him. Zim shrugged him away. "Enough! I'll go. Stop touching me."

"Foine," Doyle said. "After you, ma'am." He waved his hand forward.

"Fuck you," Zim muttered.

Doyle ignored him. At least this worthless swine was moving.

They approached what looked like a giant wrought-iron gate. Cobwebs stretched between the bars, and bats perched upside down in the corners. A sign hung over the entrance: GO IN, GIVE UP, SIT DOWN, SHUT UP.

"I take it they're real assholes down here," Zim said.

Doyle blinked. "It's Hell."

"Yeah, but there's no need to be a dick about it."

"Um, there is."

"That sign's kind of rude, don't you think?"

"Sure. It used t'say ABANDON HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. Oi thought that was a nice step up from the Latin, which no one speaks anymore. But some of our, uh, clientele haven't been so bright of late. They didn't know what the phrase meant. The boss man loikes t'keep up with the toimes, like, so he made a few changes."

"Well, that makes sense." Not that Zim cared all that much.

Doyle whipped out his key chain and pressed a button on the fob. The gates slid open with an unoiled creak. Zim cringed at the sound, as if someone had run nails across a chalkboard.

"Pretty neat, yeah?" Doyle said. "I fuckin' love technology. Before this, slaves had to push the gate open."

"Sweet."

Doyle stepped through the entrance, and Zim followed. "Welcome to Limbo, the first circle of Hell. What d'you think?"

Zim cast his gaze around. All he saw was a very large group of people. Very few were white, none of them were clothed and all of them wore tribal paint on their faces and chests. They were armed with spears, and they all looked at him.

"Can't say I like it."

Doyle waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about them. They're just people who never heard've Jaysis."

"I don't care. I'm going back to Purgatory. Even if I have to climb all those stairs."

Zim turned, but Doyle caught his arm. "Yer safe, but only if yer wit' me."

Zim looked at the tribal people around him and suddenly saw the wisdom in sticking with Doyle. "Let's do this tour fast, okay?"

As they walked through the crowd, Doyle waved his hand around. "These folks're here 'cause no one ever told 'em about Jaysis Christ. Therefore, they couldn't be baptized. Therefore, they never got a shot at Heaven. They're not tortured or anything, but the oidea is that they're to spend eternity girning 'cause they're never going to meet God, like."

"Girning?"

"Whinging," Doyle said.

"What the fuck are you saying?"

Doyle sighed. "Fuckin' Americans. Complaining."

"Oh. Well, these guys don't seem too disgruntled."

"That's 'cause they don't get it. To them, this is just a place t'hang out forever. And for the record, everyone born before Jaysis is here as well."

"Why?"

"'Cause they never heard of Jaysis. Aren't yeh payin' attention?"

"This is stupid. Limbo is stupid."

"That's a matter've contention between Biblical scholars," Doyle said. "It's an argument Oi for one will stay away from."

"This would be a good place for a taco joint," Zim said. "Maybe Tapateos."

"Oi'd rather they put a bar here. Did Oi mention there's no alcohol in the afterlife?"

"Only about five million times on the way down the staircase."

A very large bearded man wearing a toga stepped in front of Zim and started babbling like a beast. He looked kind of like a beast, too. He'd seen uglier men, but not many this bad off.

"I don't know what you're saying," Zim said.

"It's Greek," Doyle said.

"It's all Greek to me."

"Jaysis, did Oi just walk into a vaudeville act? The man's actually speakin' Greek. Zim, meet Socrates."

Zim squinted. "Bullshit. He looks nothing like he did in BILL AND TED."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "Saints preserve us."

"Why's he down here?" Zim asked. "He's supposed to be a big time philosopher."

"He was born before Jaysis."

"So?"

"Oi'll be very surprised if Oi can get yeh to my boss alive."

"I was just fucking with you that time," Zim said. "I just think this whole thing is stupid. So what if you've never heard of Christ or were never baptized? It's not a big deal."

"Says you," Doyle said. "God's kinda particular."

Someone shouted, "Zim!" And there was a string of incomprehensible words that followed. Shockingly enough, it was a feminine voice. Zim hoped he'd finally get to see some boobies. Looking at all the dicks was kind of making him nauseous.

He turned around to be confronted by a familiar face. "Yaeko!"

Sadly, she was clothed in a kimono. Thankfully, she was eager to jump into Zim's arms. They hugged each other, Zim making sure to get the fullness of her breasts against him. He said, "Why are you here? You're, like, hot."

"Died before Christ was born," Doyle said.

"I'm getting sick of that crap," Zim said.

Zim pulled back and gazed into Yaeko's eyes. "How does she even remember me? I went back in time and killed myself. She would have never met me."

"Yer not familiar wit' the concept of the multiverse, are yeh?" Doyle asked.

"Uh . . . forget I asked."

Doyle sighed. "Didn't want t'explain it, anyway."

Yaeko said something in Japanese, and it sounded like the most beautiful thing Zim had ever heard. This Yaeko still had every desire to let him bang her, and now seemed like the perfect time. His hands started to wander all over her body, and their lips pressed against each other.

Doyle pulled Zim back. "Enough, mate. There'll be plenty of toime for that nonsense in the next circle."

"Yaeko!" Zim tried to pull away from Doyle's grip, but the Irishman was too strong.

"Zim," she said. Sorrowfully, she waved to him as she disappeared into the crowd.

Zim yanked his arm away from Doyle. "Thanks a lot, you cockblocker!"

"We've no toime fer games, Zim. There're eight more circles to go."

"Oh fuck," Zim said.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

LUST

As soon as Zim entered the second circle of Hell, he popped an instant boner. He cast his gaze around in awe. "Holy shit. Boobs!"

It was the biggest orgy he'd ever seen. No one wore clothes here, and they rubbed against each other with abandon. The air was redolent with the scent of sweat and cum, but it didn't bother Zim. He'd never seen so many naked chicks in one place. Sure, not all of them were appetizing, but . . . BOOBIES! Some were even hot!

It was a shame that there were so many thrusting dicks around, though.

"Takes yer breath away," Doyle said.

"I'll say." Zim was barely aware of speaking these words. He slowly stepped forward, wondering if anyone would mind him joining the fray. There was a group of women over there, and there wasn't a guy among them. Perhaps they would . . .

Doyle grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Don't even think've it, mate."

"Come on! Why would you take me here if you didn't want me to be tempted?"

Doyle grinned. "That's a good question. You should ask the boss man, when yeh meet him."

"You tell me. I don't want to wait."

"Can't. Now, let's go."

"Hey, is that Marilyn Monroe?" Zim asked. "Look at those tits!"

"Aye, she takes a cock loike a pro," Doyle said. "But never moind that. Let's go."

"Just give me a minute," Zim said. "I don't need all that long to finish. I just want to join them long enough to—"

"If you stray from me," Doyle said, "Oi can't protect yeh. You don't want to wander this circle wit'out protection."

"Something tells me I won't need protection with this group." Zim snickered at his own play on words.

"Really? See t'at guy over there?" Doyle pointed.

Zim squinted and saw a naked man with a Caesar haircut. "That guy? The one sticking his entire fist up that old man's ass?"

"He's Caligula, and he's not the worst of this crew. Do yeh honestly want to join with that madman wandering around?"

"Um, I'll keep away from him."

"By joining up with them, yer givin' 'em consent to do whatever they want to yeh. Do you want a fist up yer arse? If yer lucky?"

Zim felt kind of sick. "Maybe not. Let's get out of here."

As they walked, Doyle went into tour guide mode. "This place was originally supposed to be a freezin' wasteland, and anyone who wound up here couldn't wear clothes. The oidea was that they'd have all these lustful feelings, but the Hoth-loike cold would prevent 'em from being able to act on 'em."

"I'm sure that worked out all right," Zim said.

"The boss man miscalculated the power've lust. People started filing in, and roight away they started fuckin' loike fiends. Their body heat melted the oice, and the orgy hasn't stopped since. That's whoiy the floor's so sticky."

Zim glanced down and saw what he was walking in. He gagged and stared up at the ceiling.

Doyle laughed. "Yeh get used t'it."

"I don't think so."

"Just don't slip and fall."

Zim started stepping more carefully. "I was pretty lustful in life. Would I have wound up here?"

"Oi don't know. It depends on which've yer sins was the biggest. Y'ever rape a girl?"

"No," Zim said. He thought back to that one woman he'd thought was sleeping that one time. Did that count?

"Do all sexshul thoughts overcome yer reason? Loike, does it stop yeh from doin' everyday tasks?"

"I guess not." They were pretty strong, but his inability to find a consenting adult to practice with kind of put the kibosh on letting sexual thoughts prevent him from doing things. Maybe that's why he played so much Final Fantasy when he was alive.

"Check it out," Doyle said. He pointed. "John Holmes."

Before Zim could stop himself, he looked and took in the sight of Johnny Wadd himself with three girls licking his dick at the same time. There was room for a fourth.

"Fuck."

"Made yeh look," Doyle said.

"I hate you."

"Wait till we get to Anger," Doyle said.

"How much longer do we have to go through here?" Zim asked.

Doyle grinned. "This place no longer fun fer yeh?"

"Shut up."

"We're almost t'rough. There's the portal to the next circle. Roight next to the guard. Recognize him?"

It was difficult to see the guy at all because it looked like he was crouched over. Then he realized that the guard was sucking himself off. When he got close enough, he easily identified him as JFK.

"That's gross."

Doyle laughed. "Yeh should see what Bill Clinton gets to down here."

"Wait, he's not dead yet."

"That's how deep his depravity goes," Doyle said. "He's here, and he's not even dead yet."

"How?"

"Is now the toime fer that quantum physics conversation?"

Zim grimaced. "Forget it."

"Good. Somet'ing tells me that explainin' quantum physics t'you would be loike tryin' to teach Shakespeare to a rock."

"Thanks."

Doyle stepped around JFK without a second glance and entered the next circle. Zim took a moment to look at JFK, just in time to see the former president's body convulse. At first he wondered what had just happened, but then he realized, and he rushed after Doyle.


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

GLUTTONY

As Zim approached the next circle, Doyle held his hands up. "Before we continue, Oi wanted to warn yeh about something."

Zim glanced behind him to make sure that JFK wasn't following them. "Uh, okay. What's up?"

"The next circle is Gluttony. Yer gonna see a lot of food and drink in here, and yeh must not consume anything. Understood?"

"Why would I eat anything in Hell?" Zim asked. "It's Hell. It's kind of like eating food off the floor of a dump truck."

"Just remember t'at, mate. Let's go."

They took two steps forward when Doyle stopped them again. "One more t'ing. Traditionally speakin' this circle is guarded by Cerberus. Heard o' the fella?"

"Uh . . . no. I didn't really excel in school."

"Well, he's a dog, and he's a t'ree-headed fella. Just t'ought yeh should know."

"Thanks for the warning." As soon as Doyle turned his back, Zim rolled his eyes. How much more of this shit must he put up with? Why couldn't Brandon or Fitz or Future Booze Jesus be doing this instead? He just wanted to grab a pizza, a can of Monster and play some Final Fantasy.

They approached the portal into the next circle, and both saw the dog sitting in front of the gate. Zim expected it to jump up and start barking like a beast, but it only glanced up at them. It seemed to take some interest in them, but not enough to leap into action.

"Cerberus," Doyle said.

"Doyle," one of the heads said. "Long time."

"Not t'at long. How're t'ings?"

"Boring."

"Nice doggy," Zim said. He offered to pet the talking head.

Cerberus narrowed his eyes. "Fuck off, chum."

Zim retreated slightly. "Sorry."

Doyle grinned. "In the ol' days, Cerberus would've taken yer bloody hand off. The only way to get past him was to fill his mouths with mud so he couldn't bite yeh."

"I got sick of that after the first century," Cerberus said. "Besides, this is a shit detail. Fuck the boss man. This job's not worth eating mud. I let anyone pass me by, so long as they're polite and say hi."

"That's good. For us, I guess," Zim said.

"Come on, mate. Catch yeh later, Cerberus."

"Right on," the dog said.

Zim and Doyle passed through the gate, and as soon as Zim looked around, his eyes lit up. "Holy shit! This is awesome!"

There were thousands of tables overstuffed with food and drink, and best of all, it was the kind of thing Zim ate all the time. Stacks and stacks of cheese sticks and garlic butter sauce. Rotisserie chicken from 7-Eleven. Burritos done up like Tapateos makes them. McDonald's double cheeseburgers. Pizza everywhere. And to wash it all down was a bunch of Monster.

"Remember—" Doyle started.

Zim bolted forward, digging his fingers into the cheese sticks and pizza, eager to finally eat something. He wasn't really hungry, but after going through Purgatory and a few circles of Hell, he thought he deserved something.

Doyle slapped the food out of his hand. "You bloody idjit! Remember what Oi fuckin' told yeh?"

Zim looked at the table again. Saliva squirted into his mouth, and he moved to grab more.

Doyle pulled him back. "Don't fuckin' eat anything here! It's all slush! You just think it looks like food!"

Zim blinked, and the food transformed into a dirty slush pile, like the dingy snow in a convenience store parking lot. "What the fuck?"

"This is another place t'at didn't work out so well fer the boss man," Doyle said. "Originally, people who wound up here would be pelted with this freezin' snow, but they started eating it instead of being tortured boiy it."

"They eat that stuff?" Zim almost gagged.

"Aye, they do. The boss man changed things, so the slush looked loike food. These sinners can't get enough of the stuff. Check it out." Doyle pointed.

Zim saw a crowd of the fattest people he'd ever seen. They were so large they couldn't even fit into clothes. Folds of sweaty fat hung down like melting cheese on the edge of a burger, and these people shoveled handfuls of slush into their mouths, never ceasing.

"Holy shit, is that Marlon Brando?"

Doyle nodded. "There's a man who could've used a stomach stapling."

"Especially now. What does he weigh? Six hundred?"

"Most of these fellas weigh a ton. Literally."

"Jesus."

"And if yeh start eatin' t'at slush, yeh'll get that way, too. It turns yeh into an addict. So . . . yer welcome."

Zim didn't want to dignify Doyle in any way, but he still felt grateful for not becoming one of those heifers.

"Don't stare," Doyle said. "It's not polite."

"I just thought I saw the guy from SE7EN," Zim said.

"T'at's enough. I can't stand this place. Let's go."

Zim tore his eyes away from the horrible sight of Brando's pulsing goiter, and they headed for the portal to the next circle.


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

GREED

The first thing about Greed that struck Zim was the stink. The reek of shit, piss and sweat overcame him, nearly driving him to his knees. "Ugh," he muttered. He held a hand over his nose and mouth. "What the fuck is that?"

"Sorry," Doyle said. "Fergot t'warn yeh."

The smell was so awful Zim felt it burn against his eyes. "This smells worse than a Joliet dump truck in the summer. What is it?"

"No one cleans up after themselves here," Doyle said. "They're concerned wit one t'ing only: satisfyin' their own urge to possess t'tings. Everyt'ing else is ignored."

"So . . . everyone here is a hoarder?"

"Got it in one, mate."

"And they don't clean themselves?"

"Nope. Oi'll show yeh."

"Do you have a handkerchief or something?" Zim asked. "This smell sucks."

"Yeh get used t'it."

Zim sighed and lifted the front of his shirt to cover the lower half of his face. Only then did he follow Doyle into the next circle of Hell. All around him he saw piles and piles of stuff, and none of it looked very valuable. Old pizza boxes, twisted cellophane wrappers, dead cockroaches and a variety of other things seemed packed together, and each owner stood guard over the stuff he owned, passing his hands over it like an appraiser presented with an antique.

All of these people were naked and dirty and unkempt. The backs of their legs were brown, and dust caked their faces so badly it was difficult to determine features.

"Don't these people give a shit about how they look?" Zim asked.

"Nope. All they care about is ownin' more stuff. Check it out." Doyle picked a piece of lint from his pocket and threw it behind his back. No less than twenty sinners rushed out and started wrestling over who would get to own it. Their howls and flatulence made Zim cringe.

Finally the winner squirmed away from the others and held aloft his prize. For all the glee in his eyes, it could have been a gold nugget.

"That guy looks familiar," Zim said.

"He's Pope John Paul II," Doyle said. "This circle is filthy with Catholic holy men and politicians."

"Weird," Zim said.

"Not so weird," Doyle said. "T'ink about how fancy Vatican City looks. Then t'ink about how actual Catholics aren't so well off. Sounds like greed t'me."

"I guess so." He paused. "So, aren't you going to tell me how this place was meant to be? Like you did with the others?"

"There's not much've a story, mate. Originally, these fellas were t'push 'round these giant fuckin' blocks've stone. T'ing is, they decided after a whoile that these blocks're the only t'ings around, so they decided t'own them. Every once in a whoile somet'ing blows in from another circle, and they foight over it till someone wins. All they do around here is fondle their belongings. T'at's it."

"I wish soap would drift in here," Zim said. "Maybe some water, too."

"Let's move on."

Doyle stepped forward, but Zim hesitated. He saw a stooped over old man counting pebbles in a matchbox. Just to see what would happen, Zim spit in the guy's direction. Almost everyone looked up at this sudden movement, and a few even stepped forward, ready to battle over whatever had been flung at them. Then they saw the spittle, and they looked disappointed.

"Jesus," Zim said.

He felt a hand on his side, and it went directly into his pocket. He turned to see someone had wandered over, eager for whatever he might have on him. "Get away." He slapped the man's hand.

Others soon joined him, their hands pawing at Zim's pockets and shirt. "What the fuck?! Stop!"

Doyle came rushing back, and as soon as the others saw him they retreated back to their piles of stuff. "Jaysis, Zim. I told yeh to stay wit' me. Don't you listen to any fuckin' t'ing?"

"Sorry."

"These bastards would've torn yeh apart, just to own some of yeh."

"I said I'm sorry."

"Foine. Let's get going before somet'ing else happens. Besoides, Oi'm in the perfect framve've moind for the next circle."

"Which is?" Zim asked.

"Anger."

"Jeez," Zim said under his breath. "You're so pissy."

"Oi can't wait till this fuckin' assignment's done. Let's go."


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

ANGER

Doyle was about to push through into the fifth circle of Hell when he paused, then turned to face Zim. "Prepare yerself. This is where shit starts getting' hairy. Anger is exactly as the boss man intended it t'be."

"That's unusual," Zim said.

"Some sins can't be conquered boiy the sinners. Yeh've seen these reprobates indulgin' t'emselves and defeatin' the purpose've Hell. Here, if yeh indulge yerself, yeh punish yerself. Get me?"

Zim sighed. "I don't care."

"Wit' that attitude, yeh'll be livin' at the bottom've the River Styx after yeh doie fer real."

"The River Styx? Isn't that from grade school?"

Doyle clenched his teeth and grimaced. "Follow me. Yeh'll see."

The fifth circle was a swamp, and Zim was immediately deafened by war cries and screams. All around him, enraged warriors battled with each other, and they were merciless. Even when limbs were chopped off, the victims seemed to become even more furious. Some fought with bloody neck stumps where heads should be.

Zim decided to stay very, very close to Doyle for this one.

"This is where the most angry of the angry get t'spend eternity," Doyle said. "They foight each other forever."

"What happens when they run out of body parts to fight with?" Zim asked.

"They regenerate them," Doyle said. "And they'll probably get hacked t'pieces again and again and again."

"Wow. That's fucked up."

"Aye. We have t'get t'rough this bog. The going is treacherous, but there is a path. Step only where Oi step, and stay close behind me."

A young man roared and beheaded is opponent. The head rolled away and came to a stop at Zim's feet. The eyes blinked up at him, and he screamed.

Doyle smirked. "Yeh get used t'it."

"I hate hearing that."

"Zim, meet William Wallace. And the fella who beheaded him? That's Alexander the Great. Don't go near him. There's a lot of rage in these military types, especially t'ones who conquered the known woreld once upon a toime."

"Let's go." It felt strange for Zim to say Doyle's line, but he didn't feel like sticking around to see what Alexander the Great would do next.

Doyle stepped into the swamp, and Zim paid close attention to where the Irishman stepped. Ordinarily, Zim wasn't one for paying attention. This time, he really, really didn't want to get in trouble. He took extra time to ensure that he put his own feet in Doyle's footprints. The ground was spongy but solid, and in no time Zim forgot to watch where he was going. Instead, he kept his eyes on Doyle's back.

Zim strayed from the path for just a moment, but it was enough. His left leg sank into the marsh up to his knee, and to prevent himself from sinking further, he put his hand down to push himself up . . . only now his arm went down to its elbow.

"Oh fuck."

Doyle turned around and rolled his eyes. "What the fuck did Oi tell yeh?"

"Um. Help?" Zim felt himself sinking more, and the harder he tried to pull himself out, the quicker he descended. "Now-ish?"

Doyle wearily backtracked and leaned over to help pull Zim from the muck. The ground squelched and pulled, not wanting to give up its victim, but Doyle easily succeeded. Zim grimaced as he looked at his muddy arm and leg. "Do you have a towel?"

"Live with it, mate. Let's go."

Zim wanted to argue the point, but he also didn't want to be left behind. Doyle strode forward quickly. Once again, Zim renewed his vigilance, and for the rest of the journey he never missed one of the Irishman's footprints.

They came upon a river, and Zim felt comfort in walking on the pier, which was far more solid than the swamp. At the end was a skiff, and a hooded figure stood balanced at the end of it with a long staff.

"Welcome to the River Styx," Doyle said. "The fella down here is Charon. He'll take us to the walls've Dis, which is where we need t'go."

"Swell," Zim said. He wasn't really paying attention; he was too busy trying to wipe his arm clean. He then remembered that there was a river right here, and he bent down to clean himself off.

"Don't do that," Doyle said.

"Why not?"

"Yeh don't know what moight grab yeh."

"Fish?"

Doyle shook his head.

"Sinners?"

Doyle nodded.

Zim sighed. "Okay, I'll clean up later."

"Good man." Doyle reached into his pocket and pulled out two gold coins. He handed them both to Charon. "Oi got this one, mate. Yeh can pay me back later."

"Sure," Zim said. "Thanks."

Doyle chuckled. "Just havin' a laugh. Oi know yeh'd never pay me back."

"Fucker."

They boarded the skiff, and Charon pushed them away from the pier. The going was slow. Doyle said, "Everyone else around here's getting' modern. Why not you? A motorboat would make the trip quicker, yeh know."

Charon shrugged but remained silent.

"Just bustin' yer balls, mate."

Charon still didn't say anything.

"Anyway." Doyle turned back to Zim. "This is where yeh go if yer the sullen koind of angry. Yeh gurgle at the bottom of the River Styx forever."

"Oh."

"This is where yeh go if yeh keep it all insoide, if yeh foind no joy in the woreld at all. From what Oi understand've yeh, this is probably where yeh'd woind up."

Zim peered over the edge of the boat and saw faces beneath the surface. They watched him pass with anger in their eyes. "Just like in Lord of the Rings."

Before long, they approached a giant wall that seemed to stretch in both directions forever. Zim thought he saw something flying around the top, like a flock of deadly bats or something.

"This wall guards the city of Dis," Doyle said. "We're gonna have to talk our way in."

"You mean, Hell wants to keep people out?"

"Oi know, Oi know. It makes no bleedin' sense. But there yeh go. Oi need to warn yeh, though; if we encounter anyone, DON'T LOOK IN THEIR EYES. Oi can't stress it enough. DO NOT LOOK IN ANYONE'S EYES. And please follow moiy instructions fer once. If yeh fuck up here, yer dead fer good. There's nothin' Oi can do to help yeh."

"Okay."

"What did Oi tell yeh?"

"Just now?"

"Just now."

"Um . . . don't look in anyone's eyes, or I might die."

"Remember that."

"Jesus! I got it, all right?"

"All roight. Now, Dis is where the real scum are housed, which is koind've funny, considering what the sixth circle consists've. Out here are the passive sins, but in there are the active ones. Got it?"

Zim didn't bother to answer.

"Here we are. Remember, DON'T LOOK INTO ANYONE'S EYES."

Zim stared at his feet.

"Who goes?!" someone from above yelled. Zim was tempted to look up, but he remembered Doyle's warning at the last second.

"It's me! Doyle!" He turned to Zim. "The walls are guarded by fallen angels. These are the fellas who fought against God by Lucifer's soide."

"State your business!"

"Fer Christ's sake, man! Just fuckin' let me in!"

"Watch the c-word, ya' fuckin' mick!"

"Cunt?" Zim asked. He suddenly felt like he was out of his element.

"Yeh know why Oi'm here! Enough with the bloody pomp and circumstance!"

"You know the rules! Don't make me get the boss!"

"Who's the boss?" Zim asked.

"Oi'll tell yeh in a second." Doyle shouted: "I'm here to bring Cris Zim through all the circles've Hell! Now will yeh let me the fuck in?!"

Something slithered off to Zim's left, and he felt tempted to look and see what it was. He was even more tempted to do so when he heard it thump against the skiff, and when the boat bobbed as whatever it was climbed on board. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He had to look. He started turning his head when Charon grabbed his jaw and held him in place.

"What do you say, boss?!" the voice called out from above.

"So you're Zim," a feminine voice hissed into his ear.

"Um, call me Cris." She sounded dangerous, but maybe she was hot. She had to be hot. Bad girls are always hot, right? He tried to turn his head, but Charon held fast.

"Fine. I'll call you Cris."

Yessssssssss! Zim thought.

"What's so special about you, Cris? Why does Satan want to meet you so badly?"

"Satan?"

"Doyle didn't tell you that his boss was the devil, did he." Not a question.

"He probably didn't want t'hear that," Doyle said.

"Look at me, Cris. Look into my eyes."

Zim tried to look over, but Charon kept him from doing so. He did, however, see the woman's shadow, and her hair writhed as if it was alive.

"Don't look," Doyle said. He followed his own advice, keeping his eyes averted.

"I'm hot," she said. "I know your thoughts, and I know you want me. I'm so hot. Look at me. Look at me, and you can have me." Her hand reached around him and caressed his crotch.

"If yeh look, yer dead," Doyle said. "She's Medusa. Have yeh heard've her?"

"That snake woman from Clash of the Titans?" Zim asked.

"Well, she goes all the way back t'Ancient Greece, but yeh've got the roight oidea. If yeh look into her eyes, yeh'll turn t'stone."

"Don't listen to him," she whispered. "I know how to treat a strapping young man like yourself." She squeezed gently.

But her allure was gone. Zim remembered what she looked like from the movie, and it turned him off instantly. He'd rather fuck a fat chick than the snake woman. "No thanks. I just want to get this trip through Hell over with."

Her hand disappeared. "Very well. You may pass." Her voice was cold, completely void of any desire that might have been there.

"That's pretty lucky, actually," Doyle said. "Dante had a much harder toime, even wit' Virgil by his soide. They only let him enter because God says poets get a free pass."

They all heard a splash, and Medusa slithered away like a moccasin. As soon as her weight was gone, Charon parked the skiff by the pier. Doyle and Zim hopped off. "Thanks, mate."

Charon dipped his head in a single nod, and he pushed away from Dis.

"You ready for the next circle?" Doyle asked.

"No, but let's get this over with. I'm tired of all this crap from elementary school."

"Remember bein' pissed off about limbo? Wait till yeh see how heretics're punished."

"What's a heretic?"

Doyle sighed. "Come on."

Zim shrugged and followed his guide to the next circle of Hell.


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

HERESY

Once again Doyle stopped Zim just before they crossed into the next circle. "This is another one've those places that works exactly loike it's supposed to. And it's also the most crowded place in Hell. And don't worry about the noise. Yeh get—"

"—used to it, I know," Zim said. "Enough with the warnings. Let's just go."

Doyle shrugged. "Foine."

They entered, and Zim was overwhelmed by the sound of screaming. There was a corridor, and on each side, reaching so far up into the sky that Zim couldn't see the top, were stacks and stacks and stacks of burning coffins.

"Are there people in there?" Zim asked.

"Yep. One heretic in each coffin. Burning fer eternity."

"I was wondering when I'd see fire in Hell. Um . . . what's a heretic?"

"If yeh don't believe in everyt'ing the Cat'lic Church tells yeh, yeh woind up here."

"Yikes. That's a lot of people."

"Every Hindu, Muslim, atheist, pagan and Protestant is here. Even the Methodists and Baptists and Lutherans."

Zim looked around at the burning coffins. The smoke stung his eyes, and the screams pierced his ears. It was hard to concentrate in this place, but he was clearheaded enough to make at least a simple observation: "Doesn't this seem . . . excessive?"

"Yeh mean, t'punish someone for having a different opinion than yers?" Doyle asked.

"Yeah. This seems . . . I don't know . . . not fair."

"When have yeh heard about a Cat'lic who was interested in bein' fair?" Doyle asked.

"Good point."

"Boiy the way, if yeh managed to get out of the afterloife, don't ever tell the Cat'lics that they're roight. It's bad enough that they t'ink they're roight. Just imagine what they'd do if they had absolute knowledge."

"Sure," Zim said. He doubted he'd remember any of this garbage, anyway.

"Anyway, these fellas who dared to have different oideas 'bout the universe get to burn in coffins forever. Fuckin' jolly, ain't it, but?"

"I'd rather be in Limbo. That's saying a lot."

"Aye. Hell's koinda weird like t'at. And don't worry, there's no danger t'yeh here."

"That's good."

"T'ink of it as a respite before descendin' into the next circle."

They reached the end of the corridor and found themselves confronted with another spiral staircase. "Shit. You didn't say anything about more stairs."

Doyle grinned. "Man up, Zim. At least we're goin' down this toime."

"I'd rather not go down, either."

"Have yeh always been this fuckin' lazy?"

"I like to consider it conserving energy."

"I like to consider it as shite. Anyway, prepare yerself for the stink."

Doyle opened the door to the staircase, and a horrible stench wafted out. "Argh," Zim said. "It smells like rotten feet. What the fuck is that?"

"Oi don't know, actually," Doyle said. "There's nothing going on down there that would create the stink, but there yeh go."

"Fuck. Let's get this over with."


	8. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

VIOLENCE

Thankfully this staircase wasn't as long as the one from Purgatory to Limbo. When they reached the bottom Doyle stepped aside and let Zim collide directly with a giant, his face pressing against the heavily muscled chest. Zim tasted sweat, then recoiled in horror. He let out an inarticulate sound of disgust once he realized his face had been against a naked man's chest, and that was really, really gay. Did that make him gay now?

He looked up and saw that it wasn't a man after all, at least not from the neck up. In place of a human head was that of a bull. A very angry bull.

"Um, Doyle?" Zim said.

Doyle waited.

"Why didn't you warn me about this?"

"Oi t'ought you were toired've me givin' yeh warnings before each new circle."

Zim gulped. "I fucking hate you."

"You're lucky this wasn't a thousand years ago," the bull man said. "If you'd done that to me back then, I would have torn you to pieces."

Doyle turned to Zim. "The years have mellowed him. Zim, meet the minotaur. He guards this circle've Hell."

"Well, I mostly keep the riff-raff in," the minotaur said. "I'm the reverse of a bouncer, I guess."

"That's cool." Zim didn't care, though. This towering pillar of muscle bothered him, and he wanted to get away from him as soon as possible.

"Eh, it's a job," the minotaur said. "Personally I miss the good old days when people sacrificed babies to me."

"That's . . . um . . . well." Zim couldn't say much to that.

"Oi'm givin' him the tour," Doyle said. "Zim, shall we?"

A thought occurred to Zim. Why did this level need a jailer? "What circle is this?"

"Welcome to Violence," Doyle said. "Oi'd stay close t'me on this one."

"Sounds good. Nice to meet you, Mr. Minotaur."

The minotaur grunted and stepped aside, letting the two travelers pass. Doyle then grabbed Zim's hand.

"Let go," Zim said. "I don't want anyone to think I'm gay."

"You have to hold moiy hand."

"Why?"

"If yeh let go, yeh'll die."

"Then let's go back."

"Not happening. The first part of Violence is a lake of blood and foire. People who committed violence against people and property're weighed down in it. I can walk over the surface, and so can anyone else who is holding moiy hand."

"Fuck." Zim tightened his grip on Doyle's hand.

They passed through the door, and the glow from the fire bathed them. All around them, a lake of blood boiled and bubbled. Zim tried to see the sinners under the surface, but the flames were too bright. "You can walk on this shit?"

"Aye."

As soon as Zim followed Doyle out onto the lake, he felt heat blast up at him. At first he thought Doyle had been wrong, and the fire had engulfed him, but when he realized he was still where he belonged, he was grateful for the Irishman. Sweat started pouring down his face as they made their way across the lake of fire.

"I hope no one here has AIDS," Zim said.

"Here it don't matter. Anyway, have you ever been mad enough at someone that yeh broke something that belonged to 'em?"

"Yeah." More than once, in fact.

"Then maybe yeh'd woind up here."

"You know? Hell's a stupid place."

"Just be glad yeh don't live here. By t'way, every serial killer ever is here."

"Well, this place is good for something, at least."

"This is where Jack the Ripper lives." Doyle pointed down to his feet.

Zim squinted to see, but the fire was too bright, and the blood was too thick.

"Tryna see who he is?"

Zim straightened up. "I guess I don't care enough for that."

"Ah! Here we go! We're almost out."

"Good." Zim was tired of Doyle's sweaty hand. He couldn't wait to let go.

"Yeh can't let go, though," Doyle said. "There are still a few more dangers in part two of this circle."

"There's a part two?"

"Aye. And a part t'ree."

"This is never going to be over, is it?"

"There's only a few more circles to go after this."

"Are they multipart, too?"

"Some."

"Fuck."

They stepped onto dry land, and Zim felt much cooler. He thought it might be safe to let go of Doyle, but just as he was about to do so, he heard an animal howling, and it didn't sound like it was far away. They were now in a wasteland covered with thorny bushes.

"Welcome to the part where those who commit violence against themselves woind up," Doyle said. "We were supposed to be here."

"You mean, suicides?"

"Aye. They're turned into these bushes, and harpies swoop down and feed off've them."

"Harpies?"

"Loike that thing up there." Doyle pointed.

What looked like winged naked women with giant, sharp teeth and claws came flying down from the sky, and they tore and bit at the bushes, which started screaming.

"That's not pleasant," Zim said.

"Not meant to be, mate. That's nothing compared to what those who destroy themselves with stuff that's supposed to support loife. They get to keep their human form, but they're chased by feral dogs for eternity. No respite."

Zim didn't know what to say to that. He just hoped that he didn't get to see any of those kinds of people down here.

They weaved their way through the bushes, and though they heard the dogs, they never came upon them. Soon it looked like they were getting ready to pass through the third part. As soon as Zim saw what lay ahead, he stopped. "No. I'm not going."

"Yeh'll be awright," Doyle said. "Just keep holdin' moiy hand."

"I see a desert with flaming sand and more fire pouring from the sky like rain. I think this is a bit above and beyond."

"I can shield yeh from it all. We walked across a lake of fire and blood."

"True. But who gets punished here? People who complain too much?

"No. This one's fer people who commit violence against God and nature."

Oh? Is that all?"

"If yeh said 'goddammit' too much, or "Jaysis Christ' too much, then you woind up here. If yeh've got bad t'ings t'say 'bout the Father, yeh woind up down here. If yeh—"

"Oh, this is bullshit! What the fuck? I thought sin was worse than this!"

"Oi'm not even done with this yet. Them blasphemers get to lay down on the hot sand. Usurers get sent here, too, and they get to sit."

"Usurers?" ZIm asked.

"That's actually pretty funny. In the old days usury was the practice of chargin' people interest on loans."

"So every banker should be here."

"Aye. In t'eory. Then, as toime passed, they changed the definition to the practice've chargin' people unreasonable interest on loans."

"That's weird."

"Aye. But here's the kicker: the usurers who were down here before they changed the definition are still here. They don't get a reprieve."

"That's . . . stupid. Fuck this place. I'm never coming back here."

"We'll see about that. Let's not ferget that those who commit croimes against nature are here, too."

"You mean, like, lumberjacks or something?"

"No. Oi mean sodomites, mostly."

"Um . . . that's gay people, right?"

"Aye."

"Well, that's one I don't have to worry about."

Doyle laughed. "Yeh mean to tell me that you don't care if gay people woind up in this terrible place?"

"Not really."

"A bit un-PC of yeh."

"I don't hate gays. I just don't care for them. I think they might want to have sex with me, and that's disgusting."

Doyle cracked up. "'Cause yer such a handsome man!"

"Shut up."

They entered the third part of Violence, and the firestorm around them was deflected by Doyle's presence. It was weird to see liquid fire pour down an invisible shield three inches away from his eyes. Off to his left, Zim saw a group of people staring at them. "Who are they?"

"The sodomites. They form groups and roam this fiery desert forever."

"What do they want?"

Doyle grinned. "Probably to sex yeh up."

"Shut up. I'm not kidding."

"Calm down Renegade. We're almost t'rough. Yeh'll see the end in a moment."

Sure enough, Zim and Doyle emerged from the firestorm to find themselves at the edge of a sheer cliff. Zim threw Doyle's hand away from his and wiped his palm dry. He then peered over to see where the cliff led. He couldn't see the bottom. "What's this?"

"The way to the next circle."

"Fuck you. There's no fucking way I'm climbing down a cliff."

Doyle smirked. "Where there's a will, there's a way."

"I have no will."

"Cheer up, Zim. There's only two circles after this. We're almost done."

The wind whistled up at Zim and blew his hair back. Somehow, he didn't take comfort in Doyle's words.


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

FRAUD

Zim shook his head. "This is bullshit. Shouldn't there be an elevator here? Or at least an escalator?"

"The point is t'make it difficult fer sinners," Doyle said. "D'yeh t'ink the fellas in the eighth circle would even consider scalin' this fuckin' huge wall?"

"It's still bullshit. You can walk on a lake of fire and boiling blood. Can't you just levitate us down?"

"Oi'm just a man, Zim. Oi may have special powers, but Oi'm still just a man." Doyle sighed, tired of listening to Zim complain. "Look, we're not climbing down, awright? Yeh can clear the sand out've yer vagina."

Zim glowered.

"Yer still not gonna loike our method've transport, though. Here he comes." Doyle pointed.

Zim saw a beast the size of a horse flying toward them on angel's wings, using a giant tail to help guide it through the sky. It had a human's head, and it looked like a very handsome man. Not that Zim was gay or anything. But even he had to admit the honest beauty of its face.

"Keep away from its tail," Doyle whispered. "It's a stinger. Deadliest poison Oi've ever heard've."

"Great," Zim said. "So this guy's going to fly us down to the bottom?"

"That's the oidea."

The beast landed with a thump, and Zim saw that its body was more like a lion than a horse, and he didn't like the way it towered over him. He was used to being the tallest person in the room, and he didn't like to have that taken away from him.

"Zim, meet Geryon. He's going to take us down to Fraud."

"Wait, Fraud is the eighth circle?"

"Aye."

"Aren't the sins supposed to get worse as we go?"

"Yep."

"That doesn't strike you as odd? Shouldn't pedophiles be next?"

Doyle shrugged. "That's the way it is, mate."

Geryon roared, and Zim flinched. "What the fuck was that?"

"He doesn't speak very good English," Doyle said. "Hop on."

Doyle mounted the beast, and he gave Zim a hand. "Grab my waist so yeh don't fall off."

"Oh, come on," Zim said. "Now you're trying to make me gay."

"Foine. Don't hold on. Yeh have no oidea how far you have to fall."

Zim sighed, and he grabbed Doyle's hips. "This is so gay."

Doyle made a clicking sound with his mouth, and Geryon leapt off the edge of the cliff, soaring through the sky as they descended into the next circle of Hell.

"By the way, do you remember how pissed off yeh were when yeh found out that there were more than one level to the last circle?"

"Don't say it," Zim said.

"Fraud has ten levels."

Zim scowled. "How much do I need to know about Fraud, anyway."

"Oi don't know, but yeh'll learn a lot."

"I hate learning."

"I noticed."

Though they seemed to go down a great distance, Geryon's prowess at flight made the trip seem short. Before long they thumped to the ground, and Doyle dismounted. He offered to help Zim down, but Zim slapped his hands away. "I'm done touching you, you goddam pervert."

Doyle shrugged, then petted Geryon's back. "T'anks, mate. Catch yeh later."

Geryon roared and took to the sky once more.

Doyle turned to Zim and opened his mouth to say something, but Zim held up his hands. "I'm taking a break. It's nap time."

"Yeh wish. There's no such thing as sleep in Hell. Yeh can close yer eyes, but yeh'll never fall asleep."

Zim's eyes widened. "This really is Hell. I'm only really happy when I'm asleep."

"And Oi'll bet yeh still feel fatigued."

Zim nodded.

"That's Hell fer yeh. Anyway, welcome to Malebolge. It means 'evil pockets.'"

"I don't care."

"Behold!" Doyle held out his hand, and Zim saw two rows of naked people, each going in opposite directions. One line consisted mostly of men (but not entirely), the other mostly of women. Not many of the women were good enough to qualify for plain, but every once in a while Zim saw someone he wouldn't mind seeing naked.

And then he saw the demons. One stood on each side of the two lines, and they furiously whipped everyone. Some of the victims were so badly injured that their skin hung in flaps. Both men and women had their genitals and eyes whipped, and Zim felt himself shrink. "That's awful!"

"Aye. The one loine consists've pimps and the other prostitutes."

"Holy shit! That's unfair. At least for the prostitutes. Maybe the pimps have it coming. Why are the prostitutes treated like this? They only wanted to make people happy. For a price, of course, but still."

"The oidea is that God gave 'em their bodies, and they sell the gift away."

"That's no way to look at it."

"Yer preachin' to the choir, mate. Let's go."

Zim followed Doyle down to the traffic, and he imitated his guide when they moved between people. Except as Zim passed by, he came face to face with one of the hottest prostitutes he'd ever seen. His eyes went straight to her perfectly formed breasts, and he started breathing through his mouth.

"Got a hundred bucks?" she asked.

Zim knew he didn't, but his hands went to his pockets anyway, hoping that magic would happen.

The demon descended with rage and whipped the nipples from her body. Zim screamed and backed away, following Doyle.

"Try not t'wander," Doyle said.

"That was horrible! I've never seen something more disgusting!"

"Never?" Doyle asked. "Not even in Gluttony?"

Zim shook his head.

"Wait till yeh see the next level. Here, they keep flatterers. Watch yer step."

Zim looked down to see a field of shit. Literal shit. The stink nearly floored him. He would have fainted if he wasn't afraid of falling into excrement. The field was peppered with heads.

"These fellas're buried up to their necks in shite. Forever."

"For flattery?!"

"Aye."

"That's not just stupid, that's crazy! Why not punish someone who hiccups too much with the death of a thousand cuts?!"

"Hell's pretty unfair. Follow me. Step only where Oi step."

Zim looked down at his shoes. They weren't spectacular, but he would much rather keep them shit-free. "I'd rather go through the firestorm of sodomy again."

"It won't stick. Don't worry."

"What's the next level? People who are late paying their taxes swimming through semen?"

"Just follow me."

Zim treaded very carefully. Unlike with the marsh earlier, Zim made certain to pay close attention. Death was one thing, but falling into shit was wholly a different matter.

Finally they got out of the poopy field, and Zim found himself in a land of human ostriches. A bunch of naked men—and all of them were men—knelt on the ground, their heads buried in cement, their feet burning in bonfires. They all screamed and squirmed, but they just couldn't escape their punishment.

"What did these guys do? Go through stop signs?"

"Simony," Doyle said.

"What the fuck is simony?"

Doyle laughed. "No one knows anymore. Oi didn't know until Oi got here, Oi'll tell yeh that. These're guys who paid for sacraments and bribed officials for positions of power in the Cat'lic Church. Named after Simon Magus—"

"That's good enough," ZIm said. "Let's get out of here."

They weaved their way through the screaming sinners until the simonists gave way to a bunch of people wandering around with their head turned around on their necks, like the girl from The Exorcist. They roamed around, walking backward so they could see where they were going.

"These're sorcerers and astrologers and false prophets," Doyle said.

Zim laughed. "That's perfect! Hey, is that Miss Cleo? I didn't know she was dead."

"Yeah, this one is koind've funny. The next one's a bit heavier, though. It's another place where yeh have t'hold my hand."

Zim sighed, and they moved to the next level, where they found a lake of boiling pitch. Naked people, mostly men, screamed from within.

"Corrupt politicians," Doyle said. "Yeh'd be surproised by who's here. Oi mean, there are a bunch've obvious folks, but then again . . ."

Zim pointed. "Is that Abraham Lincoln?!"

"He wasn't so honest."

"What did he do?"

"Oi don't know the details. But more politicians're corrupt than not."

Zim gave up and surrendered his hand to Doyle. They walked across the surface of the pitch, and Zim saw George Washington struggling to pull himself out of his mire. There was Lyndon Johnson. Andrew Jackson. Come to think of it, he saw almost every US president in history.

The ground solidified, and Zim found himself walking through walking through a crowd of people weighed down with lead cloaks. They struggled with each step, but Zim didn't think this punishment was too bad. "What did they do?"

"They're hypocrites. Lots've religious folks around here."

"This one's not so bad. Comparatively, you know."

"True. Not much t'see here, so it's koind've a thin level. Here's the next one."

"Holy shit! Is that a centaur?"

Sure enough, the way to the next level was guarded by a horse with a man's head, chest and arms. Perched on the centaur's back was a small dragon, steam rising from its nostrils.

"Aye. This is Cacus, and he makes sure no one gets out've the level for t'ieves."

The centaur stood statue-still, ever vigilant. He did not even acknowledge his visitors.

"He don't say much. Anyway, stay close to me for this one. Lots've nasty beasties."

The thieves ran around in this absolutely chaotic level. Chasing them were snakes and other various lizards. Whenever one of the thieves was bitten, he transformed into something else. The guy in front of Zim turned into a pile of ashes and blew away. Another turned into a giant book and started flapping around. Yet another distorted and turned into a futon.

"This is kind of . . . amusing," Zim said.

"There's always a surproise on this level."

"I could watch this for hours on end."

"Me, too. But we won't. Toime's a-wastin.' And this next one ain't so bad, either. Check it out."

Beyond the thieves, Zim saw a land populated by many columns of fire. But nothing looked violent or chaotic here. "What's this? It's just a bunch of fire."

"Contained in each column is a sinner," Doyle said. "These fellas used their persuasive gifts to talk other people into committin' fraud. Can you guess who gets the biggest numbers here?"

"Don't care."

"Radio talk show hosts. Those fuckers're really good at convincin' people've t'ings."

"Interesting." Zim looked at his wrist, where he'd keep a watch if he had one. "Look, are we at the ninth circle yet?"

"Two more levels," Doyle said. "C'mon."

Zim was aware of the next level first because of the sound. A whip cracked every other second, and screams filled the air. As they came closer he saw a giant demon bearing a whip about as thick as a baseball bat at its narrow tip. He relentlessly whipped a group of naked people, and he didn't even break a sweat.

"These sinners're here 'cause they sowed discord. There's a bunch of radio show hosts here, too, but they're outnumbered by opinions columnists. There's Moike Royko over there. And if yeh squint, yeh can see Mark Twain and Ambrose Bierce back there."

"I don't know who those people are."

"Jaysis, Zim. Tell me yeh've never read Huck Finn?"

"Wait, I did. Well, I pretended to. I watched the movie so I could pass the test at school."

"Yer impossible. Anyway, I hope yer not a germophobe."

"Not really. I mean, I wouldn't want to catch a cold or anything."

"Good. 'Cause the next level is for counterfeit artists and perjurers. Check it out."

Zim looked around and saw a crowd of naked people, and they were all covered with lesions, lumps, bumps, growths, flakes and all the indications of disease. Some of them suffered from leprosy and dropped their inflamed limbs to the ground as they walked.

"Um. Their crimes are pretty bad, I guess, but not that bad. What's with this place?"

"The boss man figured that since these fellas are a disease on society, they should suffer from actual diseases here. Weird logic, but Oi can see it."

"And what's with those giant statues in the distance?" Zim asked.

"They're not statues. They're giants. They mark the gate to the ninth and foinal circle've Hell. Congratulations, Zim. Yeh made it wit'out a nap."

"We're not there yet."

"True. Only one way to get there."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Let's go."


	10. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

TREACHERY

When they reached the giants Zim saw that they were only visible from the waist up because there was another sheer cliff here. When he looked over the edge he saw that the giants were, of course, naked, and they were all men.

"Oh fuck," he muttered. He averted his eyes.

"Do yeh even look at yer own?" Doyle said. "Is that how scared yeh are've cock?"

"Come one. That dick is bigger than me. It's disgusting."

"Oi think yer just scared that yeh moight be gay yerself."

"Shut up. Anyway, is this the last circle? Do we finally get to see the devil, or what?"

"Well, this is the last circle, but it's four parts long."

Zim felt himself deflate, and he wanted to collapse and not move. Forever.

"We're almost there. Welcome to Treachery. These giants guard this circle. See that fella up there? That's Anteus. He's a real piece've work."

"What did he do?"

"In ancient Greece, he used to hang out in the wilderness. Anyone who came boiy, he would challenge to a wrestlin' match. He was a giant even in his own day, and he was Poseidon's son, no less."

"He was not this big," Zim said.

"No. But he was still big boiy human standards. Anyway, he'd kill his opponents and collect their skulls. He planned to build a temple t'his father wit' 'em."

"What a sicko. What happened if someone beat him?"

"No one did, except for Heracles."

"You mean, Hercules."

"Hercules was the Roman version. Oi'm talkin' ancient Greece."

"Oh. I knew that."

Doyle didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he plowed on. "Heracles got him in a bearhug, and squeezed his guts out. Boiy the way, this was in the old days, when men wrestled with each other . . . naked."

For a moment, the image of the Hulkster wrestling with Rowdy Roddy Piper naked popped up in Zim's head, and he banished it as quickly as possible. "I hate you, Doyle."

Doyle turned to the giant. "Antaeus! Give us a hand!"

Antaeus turned to them and presented his hand to them. Doyle hopped up into it. "C'mon, Zim. This is our elevator."

"I'm getting into the hand of someone who took people's skulls to make a church for his dad?"

"Aye. What's t'problem?"

"Fuck. At least this is almost over." Zim climbed into the giant's hand, and there was a whoosh of air as they descended toward the final circle of Hell. He closed his eyes when they came close to Antaeus's dick.

At the bottom they jumped out of the giant's palm. Doyle shouted, "T'ank yeh, mate!" He turned to Zim. "Welcome to Cocytus."

"Sounds too much like cock," Zim said.

"Jaysis. Shut the fuck up about cock. It's on yer moind so much, Oi wonder if yeh really are gay."

"Don't say that."

"Then shut up."

Zim saw a lake of ice and scratched his head. "Isn't that supposed to be a lake of fire?"

"Good question. The answer is no. These are supposed to be the worst sinners in history. Ice burns more than foire. Check it out."

The lake was dotted with people's heads. It took Zim a moment to realize that they were people buried up to their necks. "That's awful."

"These're people who betrayed their family."

"That sucks. What if they have to scratch their noses?"

Doyle ignored him. "See this fella here? That's the first murderer in history. Meet Cain."

The head Zim saw didn't look like much. It was puny and bald. The glare from his eyes was empty. "That's it? That's Cain?"

Doyle nodded. "Killer've Abel."

"Yikes."

They moved on to the next level, where people slipped and slid on the ice. Zim mostly watched his own feet to make sure he didn't slip and fall on his ass. He didn't want to look like an idiot, not even in Hell. He looked up once and noticed that some of these guys were gnawing on each other's skulls. It was an odd thing to do, and he stared curiously at them.

"These guys betrayed their governments," Doyle said. "Those who have rivals get to have their heads chewed up."

"Sweet," Zim said.

"There's Benedict Arnold," Doyle said.

"Who?"

"Jaysis fuckin' Christ, Zim! Oi didn't even grow up in America, and Oi know this shite!"

"Maybe I don't care enough to know it. I just like knowing relevant things Like what I need to do next on Final Fantasy."

They passed into the next level, where people laying on their backs were encased in ice with only their faces poking out. "This is koind've a weird place. These folks betrayed their guests. But for some reason, they woind up here before they die. A demon is sent up to possess their bodies on Earth. Don't ask me why."

Zim grinned. "Why?"

"Fuck off. And don't step on anybody."

They entered the final level of this circle, where the sinners were all completely encased in ice, their bodies distorted into weird shapes. It kind of reminded Zim of the scene from Zardoz, where the naked bodies were covered in plastic.

"These fellas betrayed their lords and benefactors," Doyle said.

"Well, that's kind of a dick move."

"This place is named Judecca after Judas Iscariot. But he doesn't live here."

"Why not?"

"Yeh'll see."

Zim knelt over one of the sinners and knocked on the ice. The naked guy down there didn't move.

"Hop t'it, Zim! We're at the end!"

Zim stood and almost rushed to follow Doyle when he remembered he was on ice. Carefully he stepped forward until he was with Doyle again. They stepped off the frozen lake and onto solid ground, where they stood before a cave.

"You ready t'meet the big man?" Doyle asked.

"We have to go down into a cave?"

"Actually, the cave is just for show. The darkness is a portal into Satan's office."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Cheer up, mate. This is all almost over. Once yeh step through the portal, yeh'll be at the end."

"The end of what?"

Doyle grinned. "The end of the beginning, of course."

Zim narrowed his eyes and considered telling Doyle how much he hated him. But that was old material, as D-Dolla' would say. Wordlessly, he stepped into the cave and prepared to meet the devil.


	11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

PLEASED TO MEET YOU, HOPE YOU GUESS MY NAME

The cave was actually just a paint-mark on the side of the mountain, like something out of Wile E. Coyote. It concealed a door, and when Zim stepped through, he found himself in an office waiting room. A blast of air conditioning soothed his skin, and the sight of a leather chair brought joy to his heart. He rushed in and dropped into the chair, closing his eyes and resting with all his might.

"No toime t'sit down," Doyle said. "The boss man's waitin' fer yeh."

"In a minute," Zim said. He didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Now-ish," Doyle said.

Zim let out a tremendous sigh and pulled himself up and out of comfort. Doyle led him to the door in the back of the room and clapped him on the back

"This is as far as Oi go," Doyle said. "Oi'd loike to say it was a pleasure, but yer the laziest, stupidest most vain, homophobic piece've shite Oi've ever met."

"Thanks," Zim said.

"Good riddance." Doyle turned around and walked out of Zim's life.

Zim thought to head back to the chair now that the Irishman was gone, but then the door opened. "Enter."

Zim entered what looked like a study. Bookshelves lined the walls, and there were paintings where there weren't books. At the back was one of the biggest desks he'd ever seen, and the leather chair was turned so its rear faced him. Above the desk was a giant screen, and over that was the head of an animal Zim could not recognize, obviously a trophy.

The chair turned around, and Zim found himself staring into the face of Ronald fucking Reagan. Cowboy hat, cigar and all.

"Howdy," the devil said. "You must be Cris Zim."

"Call me Cris."

"I'm sure you're wondering, Zim, why I wanted to meet you."

"Not really."

Something screamed, and it sounded like it was coming from the devil's mouth. "Never mind him. Every once in a while, he encounters a moment of sanity and remembers where he is."

"Who?"

"Judas Iscariot. He lives in my mouth." The devil/Ronald Reagan opened his mouth and revealed a tiny figure of a man on his tongue.

"Cool."

"Anyway, I'd like to show you something." He snapped his fingers, and an image appeared on the screen. It was Fitz.

"I know him. So what?"

"John Fitzgerald is one of your closest friends."

"He's my roommate."

"Not anymore. Would you care to see who he lives with now?" With another snap of his fingers, the screen changed, and Zim saw one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Who's that?"

"Fitz's roommate."

"He gets to live with her?"

"Found her on Craig's List."

"Impossible. Fitz can't be that lucky."

"Well, she's a lesbian. But she has an open mind."

"Is there any way we can get Fitz out of there and get me in?"

"You'd fuck it up," the devil said. "She'd tolerate you for a week before moving out. Don't even ask why."

"Why?"

"You're a creep."

Zim blinked. "Fuck you. I am not."

"You don't know how to talk with women because you want to bone every one of them. The idea that they are actual people rather than something you want to fuck is completely unheard of in your mind. This overcomes your common sense, so you fuck it up. You stalk them. You diddle them when they're asleep."

"JUST THAT ONCE!" Zim yelled.

"Relax, renegade. I'm not condemning you. I'm congratulating you. You're a sleazeball. I like that in a person."

This only confused Zim, so he kept quiet.

"Besides, I agree with you. Fitz shouldn't be so lucky. I'd like to fix that." He snapped his fingers, and Zim saw a picture of Bruni.

"What's with the slide show?" Zim asked. "I know these people. So what?"

"This is Future Booze Jesus. He's about to be found not guilty in his DUI trial."

"Good for him."

"No. This is bad. He must be stopped before it's too late."

"Stopped? From what?"

"If he succeeds, he will become a celebrity. Future Booze Jesus must not become a celebrity." SNAP!

Pervdoz and D-Dolla, sitting in a bar. DD approaching them from behind.

"This is the only good part," the devil said. "I hate to ruin this one."

"DD is alive again? That sucks. I liked him without his head."

"I didn't. He was one of my finest soldiers on earth. You have no idea how much misery that guy caused."

"I think I do."

"He's going to cause these two to drink a lot more than they ordinarily would. They're about to be FBJ drunk. Since they can't drive, they're going to stay at the hotel next door, but they'll be stuck with one bed. Then, D-Dolla' will wake up in the middle of the night, think he's sleeping next to his most recent conquest, and will start making out with Pervdoz. The latter, confused and still far too drunk, won't know what's happening, so he won't stop it."

"Dude! That sucks! We can't let that happen!"

"I really, really don't want to stop it," the devil said. "That's the only part of this I will regret."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it? You fucked up the continuum by committing quantum suicide. You are supposed to exist. You created a world that shouldn't exist, so I have to send you back. And you're going to start out as a baby."

"What? I have to live my life again? That sucks."

"I can't believe I'm going to tell you this, but life sucks only as much as you let it. Do you know how many people get a second chance? You, out of everyone who has ever existed, get a do-over. You can become a much better person."

"I don't want to change."

The devil smiled. "I knew you'd say that. People usually don't. What did you think of Hell, by the way?"

"I don't care for it."

"Did you learn anything about yourself during your journey through the nine circles?"

"Not really."

"That's why I'm excited to send you back. I love the world with you in it. Your apathy and misery gets to so many people that you make the world an infinitely worse place to live. That makes me happy."

"You're a dick," ZIm said.

Satan laughed, and Judas screamed. Zim sighed and prepared himself to experience life once again . . .


	12. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Fitz and Cris stumbled through the door to their apartment, laughing far too loudly thanks to the excessive amount of Jameson running through their blood stream. They tripped over their own feet and fell to the floor, giggling like little girls. Then their eyes met, and their mirth faded away. Slowly, Fitz reached his lips toward hers, and she leaned toward him and—

"John P. Bruni," the judge said. "After some serious consideration, I've reached a verdict."

Bruni gave the judge his full attention, hoping that the next sentence out of the magistrate's mouth would spell out victory at long last.

"I find you not—"

"Hey guys," DD said. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

D-Dolla' grimaced. If there was anyone he couldn't stand more than Pervdoz, it was DD.

Pervdoz sighed. "I'm going to need another drink. A double, I think."

"That's cool," DD said. "If you drink too much, you can stay at the hotel next door. That's what I'm doing. By the way, while you're up at the bar, do you think you could get me a beer?"

"I'm switching to whiskey," D-Dolla' said.

Pervdoz stood, and—

And the world ended. It disappeared without any fanfare only to make way for another world . . .

Zim scowled at his bedroom ceiling. Brandon had taken his bullhorn and cattle prod with him to the gym hours ago, and yet Zim could not get back to sleep, no matter how hard he tried.

He gave up and went to the bathroom. Since he was hungry, he went to the kitchen next. Though he felt like eating a lot, he thought that would be too much effort. Instead he grabbed some cereal. Two spoonfuls later, there was a frantic knocking at his door.

"What the fuck now?" He put the bowl down and went to the door. He was about to open it without thinking when something spoke up in the back of his head. Déjà vu. Weird.

He looked through the peephole only to see a shrouded figure hammering away at the door. From the little he could see of the guy's face, it looked like his visitor was a burn victim. There was no way he was going to open the door for that.

"Go away! We don't want any!"

"I must speak with Zim! He is the Chosen One!"

"Yeah, right. Get lost."

"Only you can save the world! Please! Open up! There will be a green man at Tailgators tonight! You must sing for him!"

"I hate that fucking place. Go away."

The man on the other side of the door began to scream. It sounded very painful, but Zim didn't care. He wanted nothing to do with this weird stranger.

The scream abruptly stopped.

Zim went back to his cereal. Shortly afterward, he decided that he wasn't going to hang out with Fitz and Brandon at Tailgators tonight. He left a message on Fitz's voicemail, telling him this, and went back to bed.

Finally Zim fell asleep. And he smiled.

CRIS ZIM WILL RETURN IN STARGATE: SG-ZIM!


End file.
